


Intertwined

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, gay mind melds for fun and dramatic irony, it's not fine., like any good kh fan i'm gay about paopu fruit, sorta kinda possession but like it's fine! it's fine!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: “You seem quite interested in matters of the heart,” Eraqus says, tone just brushing up against the edges of teasing. Eraqus, in his single-minded way, has rather romantic notions of the heart. He tends to ignore the practicalities of its study, the influence it has over the keyblade and the greater balance of the world.“It’s an interesting subject,” Xehanort says, “personal matters aside. I picked up a fascinating trick while I was away, actually.”At that, Eraqus opens his eyes and draws back far enough to look at him. “Fascinating, huh? High praise, coming from you. This I have to hear.”





	Intertwined

Xehanort has been to more worlds than he can count by now, but there is still something singular about Scala ad Caelum. It’s the air, maybe, its particular composition this high in the sky. Or the whitewashed walls, shining brighter than anything Xehanort has yet to see in any other land. Or the gulls, a louder and more annoying breed even than those Xehanort grew up with on Destiny Islands, and also one he still cannot escape a lingering fondness for.

Or perhaps it’s simply the company.

“You’ve been away too long,” Eraqus tells him petulantly. This is after he’s already thrown himself into Xehanort’s arms, forcing him to catch Eraqus in a hug, heedless as always of the curious eyes of his students. Xehanort should tell him that they’re both too old for such antics now. He doesn’t. “Your last letter was two months ago!”

“Well, if I’d known you were so eager for news of the outside worlds, perhaps I would have invited you along. Oh, that’s right—I did, and you declined.”

Eraqus crosses his arms. “Oh, please. Don’t you want to relax for at least a day before we start that again? Come on, I still have the board set up.” He tugs Xehanort away by the hand, his grip strong and rough with the same calluses all Keyblade wielders have. The familiarity shouldn’t be a comfort, but Xehanort can’t help but relax into it. 

“Aren’t you in the middle of a class?” 

“Oh, right.” Eraqus turns back to his students. “Everyone has the afternoon off!” he declares, to a generally delighted chorus of _thank you, Master Eraqus!_

“You shouldn’t be so soft with them,” Xehanort says. “They won’t thank you when they have need to fight.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you said all those afternoons when we snuck off, and the Master had to go looking for us. You know, all those times it was your idea?”

Xehanort inclines his head, conceding the point. A painful prospect, in the normal course of things, but not with Eraqus. Never with him, no. He always rewards Xehanort with that same brilliant smile. It has not dimmed at all in the year since Xehanort has seen him. 

They end up in the same sunlit room they spent so much of their youth in, wiling away the hours on chess and aimless conversation. The board remains unchanged from when Xehanort last saw it. It’s clean, free of dust. Eraqus likes to play out old games of theirs, finding alternate paths in them. Xehanort knows he hasn’t been playing with anyone else. 

Neither of them are at their best, both too preoccupied by their reunion to put their all into it. Xehanort plays better chess when they aren’t in the same room, anyway, and instead trade moves by letter. It’s better suited to his long-simmering strategies, rather than Eraqus’s quick-thinking moments of sudden brilliance. 

And Eraqus is uniquely distracting, and knows it, looking up at Xehanort from under his lashes and then laughing when he nearly drops a rook. 

Finally, they give up the pretense. “Checkmate,” Eraqus says, tipping over the black king with a grin.

“That wasn’t a legal move,” Xehanort tells him—it wasn’t—but he doesn’t stop Eraqus from picking up the board, setting it on the ground as pieces roll off, and flopping back down against the loveseat, his head in Xehanort’s lap. “And I’m not going to be the one cleaning that up.”

“If you say so,” Eraqus says, shifting to get more comfortable. He takes Xehanort’s hand in his own, the one that hasn’t already settled in Eraqus’s hair, combing through the strands. “I missed you, you know.”

“Yes.” Xehanort knows: it’s been a year, after all. Every journey he takes, he’s sure that this time, he will finally outgrow this particular weakness. That it will not hit him so strongly when he returns and settles back into Eraqus’s orbit. That if he strays long enough or far enough, he will finally cut himself loose. But each time, he returns, and finds himself nearly staggering under the weight of Eraqus’s presence. Each absence only strengthens the feeling. It seems impossible to build up a resistance to it.

“Surely you must have learned something important out there, after so long. Apparently it wasn’t how to finally beat me at chess.”

“I believe the score is still one hundred and thirty seven to ninety nine, in my favor,” Xehanort says. “And yet you still haven’t let me name the keyblade.”

“It _has_ a name, and I made that bet when I was fifteen,” Eraqus says. He sits up. “Don’t change the subject. If your travels are so important, I don’t understand why you have to be so cagey about them. I deserve a story or two in return for going without you for so long.” 

It isn’t that Xehanort doesn’t want to tell Eraqus about all of it: the people he’s met, the worlds he’s discovered, the dark corridors he’s traveled. That last is, of course, the sticking point. Eraqus is his dearest friend, and he is also the cleverest man Xehanort knows, other than himself—telling him a tale full of strategic omissions will not suffice. Better to sidestep the telling of it. 

If Eraqus would just agree to come with him, to see with his own eyes that darkness is nothing to fear—

“I’ve learned much,” Xehanort says. “There is magic so far beyond the understanding of any of the old Masters here.”

Eraqus settles back down against him, halfway in his lap, head resting against Xehanort’s collarbone and hair tickling his chin. “Oh, am I one of them now?”

“You will be when you stop letting your students skip class for your own convenience.”

Eraqus laughs. “And I will be the wisest of all of them, because I’ll have the knowledge you’ve gained in your travels to guide me.”

That was the idea of it: Xehanort would write down all that he learned, to be shelved in this library, a treasure trove of knowledge for all the curious children of Scala ad Caelum to comb through. Just the way that Xehanort had, a reserved young boy who first met Eraqus by stumbling over him fast asleep on this same bench, a book open across his face, ruining the spine. 

But the notes Xehanort has been writing probably aren’t anything Eraqus would like to have kept in any library of his. Eraqus never found his training difficult; he has lived always in the self-assurance of the light, never needing to tread in the dark to ensure his victory. He won’t understand. 

“Hey.” Eraqus pokes him in the cheek, showing excellent aim considering that he hasn’t looked up. “You’re _here_. Don’t go off thinking without me.”

Xehanort snorts, and picks one of the few stories that won’t spark an argument. There will be time for arguing later, but for now, Xehanort is enjoying the peace in this room, the relaxed kind of closeness he has never felt anywhere else, with anyone else. Just Eraqus’s soft breath, the ticking of the clock, the distant calling of the gulls, all joining together to keep Xehanort’s heart slow and steady as he describes his studies.

“You seem quite interested in matters of the heart,” Eraqus says, tone just brushing up against the edges of teasing. Eraqus, in his single-minded way, has rather romantic notions of the heart. He tends to ignore the practicalities of its study, the influence it has over the keyblade and the greater balance of the world. 

“It’s an interesting subject,” Xehanort says, “personal matters aside. I picked up a fascinating trick while I was away, actually.”

At that, Eraqus opens his eyes and draws back far enough to look at him. “Fascinating, huh? High praise, coming from you. This I have to hear.”

So Xehanort explains. “Hearts, by their nature, are individual. Separate from one another by definition. Their boundaries shouldn’t be permeable. The heart is a closed system, unknowable to all outsiders. Or it should be.” But Xehanort has found hints, old stories of how the barriers of the heart may be overcome. Legends of the Lost Foreteller from the days of the Keyblade War, and how he survives to this day by usurping the hearts of others. It’s only a story, of course, but a compelling one.

Eraqus listens attentively, the way he’s always listened to Xehanort’s meandering trains of thought, despite his habit of falling into daydreams during their Master’s lectures. “You know I don’t believe that,” he says.

“And perhaps you’re right.”

“Is that twice in one day you’ve agreed with me?”

Xehanort ignores him. “I found an old spell, meant to allow two hearts to coexist in one body, if only for a time. I am unsure if it’s truly possible, but…”

Eraqus gives him a knowing look. “But you’re curious, and you wanted to try it.”

The desired end, of course, would be to take control. Never of anyone like Eraqus, who is as strong a will as Xehanort is ever likely to meet. It would be a tragedy to ever see it extinguished. But Xehanort’s work is long. He may have need yet to find a new place for his heart to rest. He is adept at playing the long game, in chess or otherwise.

“That’s sweet,” Eraqus says. “Two hearts intertwined, huh. Reminds me of that paopu trick from your home.”

Xehanort pauses. “I never told you about that.”

Eraqus rolls his eyes. “I can read. We’re in a library, if you haven’t noticed. Or were you distracted?”

“Brat,” Xehanort says, but there’s no bite to it. He’s somewhere else, thinking of the first time he left Scala ad Caelum. He returned to Destiny Islands. Not because he wanted to go back, but just—to prove that he could. To prove that he was free.

Eraqus noticed his departure, although Xehanort didn’t warn him of it. He was sitting awake in Xehanort’s rooms when he returned. And Xehanort was young then, and foolish. He dug the two paopu fruits he’d brought back from his bag, and handed one to Eraqus. They ate them in companionable silence in the windowsill, Eraqus growing drowsy and finally slumping against Xehanort’s shoulder. “Welcome home,” he said, mumbling into Xehanort’s collarbone. It was the first time Xehanort can remember thinking of Scala ad Caelum that way, with Eraqus a heavy weight against him, fruit juice sticky on both of their hands.

He doesn’t believe the legend. It’s only a story. But sometimes, he can’t help but think that perhaps that night is the reason he cannot stop himself from coming back here, time and time again. A tether of his own making.

“Like I said,” Eraqus says, leaning in, leaving Xehanort no space to breathe, “I think it’s sweet. You could’ve told me, you know.”

“No,” Xehanort says. “I couldn’t.”

Eraqus shrugs. “Whatever you say. But see? I know you, idiot.” This, he punctuates with a finger pressed to Xehanort’s chest. “Inside and out. So sure, why not. Let’s give it a try. Let me guess, you just want to know whether or not I cheated at chess.” 

Eraqus is looking at him with his dark eyes, wide and trusting. As if he doesn’t expect to find anything tucked away in the dark corners of Xehanort’s mind; as if he has nothing of his own to hide. “I don’t need to see into your thoughts to know _that_.” Xehanort’s fingers trail along his cheek. He closes his eyes. His own heartbeat, for a moment, is very loud in his ears. The books all described it as a dive, and so that is what he imagines, like the plunges into the waves he used to take as a boy. And all at once, his heartbeat is doubled. But it’s nothing like the icy water. Like always, Eraqus welcomes him.

Eraqus’s heart is not unlike Scala ad Caelum: bright and clear and orderly, the sun reflected off water made real. He’s thinking that there’s no _way_ this can work, but wouldn’t it be cool—and if anyone could do it, Xehanort could—there is trust there, and deep affection, staggering in its depth.

“Oh, that’s so weird,” Eraqus says. Xehanort can feel his lips move, knows what the words are going to be before they’re spoken aloud. He takes in a sharp breath, except it’s Eraqus who breathes in. It is strange. _Weird_ , Eraqus insists. It’s—Eraqus is always so warm, but this is inside his skin. He isn’t used to this kind of melting happiness. Is this how Eraqus always feels, when he looks at Xehanort?

Xehanort kisses him, the way Eraqus has wanted to since the moment he set foot back on Scala ad Caelum, the way he’s wanted to every night since Xehanort left—they were worlds apart, but they saw the same sky, wanted the same things, the same spaces were left empty in their hearts. Eraqus’s quiet shock of joy is like a living thing in his chest. Xehanort pushes a hand up under his shirt, along his back, and is surprised at the coldness of his own fingers.

Xehanort’s touch is always like that. Eraqus is thinking of that same night in the windowsill, and it’s different, in his memory—the air was colder, and he was— _scared_? How could he think that Xehanort wouldn’t return? Eraqus bites at Xehanort’s lip, a wordless argument, how could he _not_? Xehanort always seemed so untethered, so above all his training. Eraqus was so relieved when he came back, all the adrenaline leaving him at once until he nearly fell asleep with Xehanort’s cool arm around him.

Xehanort tugs him closer, and Eraqus comes easily, crowding into him. There’s no space between them anywhere, and it still isn’t quite enough. He knows Eraqus better than anyone else alive; but he also knows that there is no true end to knowledge. There is always something more to discover. He wants to learn Eraqus from the inside out. 

Eraqus was this close to begging Xehanort to stay, the first time he left on one of his long journeys. He was up late the night before, unable to sleep, entertaining himself by reading old stories of Destiny Islands. That’s where he learned about the legend of the paopu fruit, running his finger along the words in the book. The memory of his dawning realization is as sweet as the fruit was. 

“So I knew you’d come back,” Eraqus murmurs, pulling back. Eraqus has always blushed easily, but Xehanort has never felt the heat of it like this, in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He runs his finger along the shell of Eraqus’s ear. The sensation is odd, doubled as it is. “Even if you didn’t.” 

No, Xehanort never knows that he’ll come back—and now Eraqus knows that too. But he smiles, the pull of it unfamiliar from the inside. Xehanort has never believed in anything as strongly as Eraqus believes in him, in the inevitability of his return, a solid pillar of light at his core. Xehanort’s doubts are shadows that cannot withstand it. He’s right. It doesn’t matter whether the legend is true or not: Xehanort will always come back.

Eraqus kisses him again, ever distracting, and after that he can only catch fragments of what Eraqus is thinking. Their hearts are both beating so loudly, perfectly in time now, as if they really are one—as if that really is possible.

Of course it is. For one dissonant moment, Xehanort knows this, with utterly unfamiliar conviction. And then he opens his eyes, and Eraqus opens his, and in Xehanort’s sudden shock, the moment snaps. Both of them are breathing hard, back in their own hearts. Xehanort’s head is startlingly quiet.

Flushed and giddy and disconnected, Eraqus doesn’t know what it is Xehanort saw in that last moment before they parted: his dark eyes turned pale, utterly alien in his face. A mirror where there should have been no reflection. The darkness creeping up on Xehanort, though he thought himself immune. 

Eraqus blinks, and his eyes are his own again. He runs a finger along Xehanort’s cheek, as if testing if he will feel the touch. “See?” he says. “Hearts aren’t as distant as all that.”

Xehanort swallows through the sudden dryness in his throat. “If I agree with you a third time today, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Good,” Eraqus says, and leans in to kiss him again, utterly himself. Xehanort, thinking of that bright core of clarity, the way it burned away all his shadows, for once lets go of his doubts.

**Author's Note:**

> No, Xehanort, you can't change No Name's name to Highwind.
> 
> I'm luckydicekirby on twitter and tumblr! I'm constantly distraught about these sad terrible old men!


End file.
